I used to think of limbo as a static state, but it’s not. It turns out it’s this. You describe it so well. I’m glad to hear you are creating in new ways. I can’t write much either. We are all changed by this. How could we possibly stay the same within such a tragedy? But I’m happy to read these words from you and so can think of you as healthy and still there, with your family, your love, your many skills and talents. On we go, for as long as we can.
It is good to be hunkered down with people you love. I think for me it’s been hard to write here because I feel in a state of suspension, watching, waiting, wondering what will endure when all this is over, then wondering will it ever truly be over. These past four years, this pandemic, they have changed us. Who will we now become. I love you.
Some days I feel like this time is a great gift but of course, I say that from a place of great privilege and feel guilty for saying it. But if I am completely honest, for me, in many ways, it has been.
You are well which makes me thankful. You are loved and speak with your children often.
Everybody is waiting, except the birds. The birds are fine and carry on with their lives, uninterrupted. Winter is here, spring will come. The nights are long and the days are short.
As for me, I fell and hurt myself. I still can't chew properly but it's getting better. I can chew soft things now. Back to work tomorrow. Katie is in lockdown and was exposed to COVID but she's fine and I had a video call with her yesterday. She's happy and looks well.
Oh, you capture so perfectly this sense of aimless waiting. Waiting for the world to start again. I feel like I’m living this new life of distance, quiet, and new routine while waiting for us to emerge from the madness. I’m in the UK and a health care professional so we are inches away from a vaccine, which I will welcome with open arms. Each day we receive an email of the covid stats in my hospital (they’re not good) and each day I pray that people will embrace the community sense of the holidays and not the commercial sense and continue looking out for each and respecting the rules to keep us safe. Thank you for the beach respite. Beautiful 💕
I'm glad you are as well as can be. Your words always lift me -- the choices, the way you string them, it's always magic for me. Thank you for that. I am struggling to write, to be productive.
And I am angry, oh, at so much, but especially at my sister-in-law who has Covid. We talked to her a day or two after Thanksgiving. She was at home in her little town in Oklahoma. She told us she didn't go out much, but she had been out to a couple of stores because she was stir crazy at home. They didn't have church last week, but they would this week (why? Numbers were worse, not better). And not everyone there wore a mask. And she didn't always wear a mask because it was hard because she has asthma. Her full time student daughter was home for Thanksgiving. Also her son-in-law, who works in retail. And her husband, who is a hospice chaplain who visits families, some of whom have had a loved one die of Covid. Now she's sick but denying that it's very bad, perhaps not wanting us to worry. And I do wish her well. But I'm so angry that she (and they, and everyone) don't take this seriously. And that we are all stuck at home. And that I'm in a new city but can't go out because I'm in the at risk population. I'm angry, but I can't say anything to anyone. And I just want to scream.
I'm thankful, too, for my husband and the dogs, for the live oaks and the deer who roam our neighborhood, for the sandstone cliffs and the river, for reading and for long walks. And thankful for your words.
I used to think of limbo as a static state, but it’s not. It turns out it’s this. You describe it so well. I’m glad to hear you are creating in new ways. I can’t write much either. We are all changed by this. How could we possibly stay the same within such a tragedy? But I’m happy to read these words from you and so can think of you as healthy and still there, with your family, your love, your many skills and talents. On we go, for as long as we can.
It is good to be hunkered down with people you love. I think for me it’s been hard to write here because I feel in a state of suspension, watching, waiting, wondering what will endure when all this is over, then wondering will it ever truly be over. These past four years, this pandemic, they have changed us. Who will we now become. I love you.
Some days I feel like this time is a great gift but of course, I say that from a place of great privilege and feel guilty for saying it. But if I am completely honest, for me, in many ways, it has been.
You are well which makes me thankful. You are loved and speak with your children often.
Everybody is waiting, except the birds. The birds are fine and carry on with their lives, uninterrupted. Winter is here, spring will come. The nights are long and the days are short.
As for me, I fell and hurt myself. I still can't chew properly but it's getting better. I can chew soft things now. Back to work tomorrow. Katie is in lockdown and was exposed to COVID but she's fine and I had a video call with her yesterday. She's happy and looks well.
Oh, you capture so perfectly this sense of aimless waiting. Waiting for the world to start again. I feel like I’m living this new life of distance, quiet, and new routine while waiting for us to emerge from the madness. I’m in the UK and a health care professional so we are inches away from a vaccine, which I will welcome with open arms. Each day we receive an email of the covid stats in my hospital (they’re not good) and each day I pray that people will embrace the community sense of the holidays and not the commercial sense and continue looking out for each and respecting the rules to keep us safe. Thank you for the beach respite. Beautiful 💕
These ARE weird days. You said it. But I loved your video and my little virtual visit to Malibu. We take respite wherever we can find it!
I'm glad you are as well as can be. Your words always lift me -- the choices, the way you string them, it's always magic for me. Thank you for that. I am struggling to write, to be productive.
And I am angry, oh, at so much, but especially at my sister-in-law who has Covid. We talked to her a day or two after Thanksgiving. She was at home in her little town in Oklahoma. She told us she didn't go out much, but she had been out to a couple of stores because she was stir crazy at home. They didn't have church last week, but they would this week (why? Numbers were worse, not better). And not everyone there wore a mask. And she didn't always wear a mask because it was hard because she has asthma. Her full time student daughter was home for Thanksgiving. Also her son-in-law, who works in retail. And her husband, who is a hospice chaplain who visits families, some of whom have had a loved one die of Covid. Now she's sick but denying that it's very bad, perhaps not wanting us to worry. And I do wish her well. But I'm so angry that she (and they, and everyone) don't take this seriously. And that we are all stuck at home. And that I'm in a new city but can't go out because I'm in the at risk population. I'm angry, but I can't say anything to anyone. And I just want to scream.
I'm thankful, too, for my husband and the dogs, for the live oaks and the deer who roam our neighborhood, for the sandstone cliffs and the river, for reading and for long walks. And thankful for your words.